Angels, Faeries, And other such things
by HPMystery
Summary: A fairy gets into a bit of trouble and is sent to the newsie world . . .
1. Prologue

prologue In all the land of Cyntragthia, there were many beautiful fairy houses, built of shimmering stones, twisting vines, and blossoming flowers. They were so wonderful to behold, it pained your eyes to hold your gaze upon them if a fairy falk you were not. But if you were ever to travel there, one place would catch your eye- the Royal Castle. It was a smooth stone building, made out of the purest white marble. Large, precious jewels accented the pale stone, and flowering vines cascaded down the sides like majestic waterfalls. Just the sight of the palace would make you swoon- it was quite something to look at.   
But, unfortunately, that's not where our story takes place. Not even close. This is set hundreds of years later, in the raging city of Cyntropolis, fairy town extraordinaire! It was the New York City of the fairy world. Plenty of large glowing buildings that were made out of glittering, glowing stones, the streets just had a magical feel . . . the air just throbbed and FELT like . . . magic! All of the fairies walking around had large, beautiful translucent wings, glowed and shimmered like they were full of luminous glitter, and had hair that could be classified as it's own living organism.   
Now, I suppose you might be asking, Well, what is this whole thing ABOUT? Who are these fairy people, and why do I care? You see, this story shall be about a fairy who lives in a small suite in a large apartment building in the heart of city, and her name shall be Lycantrabelle, or Bellé for short. And she isn't very nice.   
You see, Bellé wasn't a pure fairy. At all. She had a thing for gambling, and was rarely seen without a smoke hanging from the corner of her mouth. She wasn't particularly nice, she went got drunk with her friends, and her manners? Unspeakable! I suppose that's why she got chosen. Chosen for . . . well, you'll see.   
It all happened one day when she was exercising to her "Wings of Steel" video. She was punch kicking the living daylights out of her couch when she heard the muffled ring of her phone coming from the desk. She punch kicked her way across the room to the beat. When she got over to the table, the phone was nowhere in sight, but she still heard it ringing from beneath a large pile of papers. She ruffled through the large pile, and triumphantly held up the phone. She pressed talk, and held it up to her ear.   
Bellé looked around cautiously. She observed a small dark room about the size of a large walk in closet. One end was a milky silver color, with a slight mist coming off of it. It seemed to radiate a glow of mysterious light, a certain shimmer that made you look at it in quite a peculiar way. Bellé wondered if it was something she'd learn to like, or not.   
The man closed his eyes for a moment, and ruffled his wings a bit. He took out a small wand, and inspected it carefully, as if he was checking it for any flaws. He tapped it harshly against the tip of his finger, gasping slightly as he did so. He cursed under his breath, and muttered something that- to Bellé- sounded like "Dratted magic refuses to leave until I drain it- I'll have to find a more reliable wand!".   
He then wiped the still smoldering tip of the wand gently on his robe. Bellé could swear she saw his eyes glimmer a blinding red-silver- a sign of a fairy being held against it's will to do something-, but she shook it off. Surely her future did not hold such tragedies that a fellow fairy would not wish to be her escort to such sorrows! She must be imagining things in her state of terror.   
Suddenly, her deep thoughts were interrupted. The man, who had been muttering, closing his eyes, and ruffling his wings, now jolted his wand up into the air with so much force that Bellé jumped in surprise.   
"Corminus dominalci! Exetitari marimucci!" he exclaimed, his eyes now shimmering an intense silvery red.   
Not knowing the spell which he was using, Bellé looked at him, confused.   
He looked at her with an evil grin, but his eyes still showed remorse and concern. As he reached his arm towards her, it shook- as if he was fighting back against himself.   
Bellé's eyes widened, and went pitch black- the sign of fear. She felt the icy cold hand on her arm, pulling her closer and closer to the wall. She tried to resist, but her attempts failed desperately. A bright flash of silver flashed across her eyes, and the next thing she knew she was plunging into the icy thickness of the wall.   
Bellé felt the hand still on her arm, gripping tighter than ever. She let out a piercing muffled scream. The air slowly drained out of her lungs, breath by breath, until there was no more. She opened her eyes one last time to see through the silvery liquid her captor with tears streaming down his face. He bit his lip, and looked down. He loosened his grip, and she could swear he mouthed the words, "I'm sorry . . ."   
Suddenly, the silver liquid swirled away, leaving darkness. She felt herself being shaken, and her name being called.   
"Bellé? Bellé? Bellé!" A stern looking man shook her.   
Bellé coughed, and sputtered. Mouthfuls of silver liquid dripped from her mouth very slowly, like syrup. "Wha. . . . wha. . .. what happened?" she managed to ask.   
The man smiled slyly, leaving Bellé an uneasy feeling in her stomach. "I'm going to foretell your being in your new home, an odd planet the natives like to call Earth. Hurry on now, I do so enjoy this, and your kind rarely comes along!"   
Bellé jolted up and spun around as the man rushed off to grab a rather large wand from with counter. She looked around to see a large cavern, mysteriously lit by eerie colored torches jutting out of the walls. There was a rather interesting object which appeared to be a spruced up cardboard box in the corner, and many objects around the room that looked like a small child's art project, a mismatch of metal, paper, glue, and duct tape.   
This new man ran up to Bellé, and stated matter-of-factly, "You shall call me Parsley. Now, let me look you over!"   
Bellé gave him an odd look. "So, you're going to tell me what this whole thing is about?"   
"Precisely!" he mumbled, rubbing the dark stubble on his chin with his forefinger. "You see, the council of fairies has decided that. . . well, you need some discipline. So we're sending you to Earth! You see, there- ahh, I've already decided. You shall be an eight year old girl named Maria- pronounced MAH-ree-ah- who lives in New York City. Everything else you need to know shall be etched into your memory. It will be a little less, er, advanced than your world, and very different. I'm warning you. Now, you'll have to make do on your own, so better be starting now! If you would just please step into this machine, this should be fast, but painful." He paused for a moment to laugh ruthlessly. "Have fun!"   
"But. . . . I. . . . you see . . .You can't d-" Bellé murmured, in shock.   
"Ah, too late. Goodbye! Good riddance!"   
Bellé tried to scream, but no sound came out. Parsley shoved her carelessly into the cardboard box, case, which happened to look MUCH bigger and very high tech on the inside. In one giant sweep of a lever, Bellé heard a deafening screech. Her voice finally sounded, into an earsplitting moan. Everything faded away quickly, the laughing, and screeching, and the sounds of her own screams. It once again was cold, dark, and dismal. Silence overcame her, knocking her senses out like a giant hammer. She felt like she was falling endlessly, in a pit with no bottom, and suddenly, she hit the bottom.   
She opened her eyes to see the cobblestone of an old street. She heard a bustling noise, and the clopping of horse's hooves. She looked up to see the streets of New York City, 1899 . . .   



	2. Belle meets the newsies

Angel, Faeries, and Other Such Things

**Angels, Faeries, and Other Such Things.**   
**A Racetrack Story**   
**By Stage DeLeon**   
**Email: YogurtGoddess@charter.net**   
**Page: hhtp://webpages.charter.net/stevescott/newsies/NewsiesForever.html**   
**AIM: Pink Tuba**

****

**Anthony "Racetrack" Higgins sat on his bed, swinging his feet through the air, lazily. It was three days after the end of the Newsboys Strike of 1899. They were all supposed to be celebrating, overjoyed with their freedom and rights- they were supposed to be happy! But in some strange way, he wasn't.**   
** He felt so . . . lonely. All of the other newsies were running around, having fun with their friends, but nobody paid much attention to him. While he had yelled at the rally, and in the crowds, he had lost his voice for a while, and it had just come back that morning. Being short didn't help much either.**   
** Hopping off of his bed, he sighed, and picked up a cigar. After lighting it, he snatched a small pouch of money from it's spot on his bedside table, and headed off for his favorite restaurant, Tibby's. It was nearing lunchtime, so he thought he'd grab some roast beef.**   
** He was hungrier than he could ever remember being, and with each step he took, it felt as though a pack of wolves were in his stomach, fighting hard to get out. However, the awful feeling inside of him wasn't all hunger. Part of it was loneliness, and sorrow.**   
** Tibby's seemed to jump out at him unexpectedly, like a tiger in the jungle. Racetrack slowly opened the door, and walked inside, to see an empty Tibby's. No doubt the newsies were off celebrating again. Without him.**   
** Plopping down at a table, Race snapped for the waiter, and ordered a roast beef sandwich and a sarsaparilla. He felt lonelier than ever when he looked around the restaurant to see only an old man drinking a beer in a corner booth. He quietly sipped his drink as he looked at a dust-ball float smoothly across the floor.**   
** Suddenly, he heard a loud SQUEEEAAK as the door opened, and looked up to see whom it was. He saw a faint figure in the door, but the sun was behind it, shining so brightly that you could not make out any features of this mysterious person. It stepped away from the door, revealing itself.**   
** It was a short, Italian looking girl, with thick black hair that went down to her shoulders, and then curled in perfectly. She had large, brown, feisty eyes, a sharp nose, elfin ears, and a broad smile. She almost looked like a fairy folk . . . Her pale skin seemed to shimmer as she looked in Racetrack's direction.**   
** He stared at her, practically swallowing his cigar whole. The feeling in his stomach changed from the wolf claws to butterflies as he watched her. She wasn't amazingly gorgeous, but she had a certain quality to her, that made Racetrack think- no, he knew that there was something special about her. She ordered a hot dog and a sarsaparilla from the waiter.**   
** She noticed Racetrack, sitting alone, and she stood up to walk to his table. "Hiya," she greeted him. "I'se Maria!" (She pronounced her name MAH-ree-ah, not the commonly used form ma-REE-ah)**   
** He stuttered, "I- I- I'se Anthony, but everyone cawls me Racetrack, or Race."**   
** "Pleased ta meetcha!" She exclaimed, spitting on her hand, and offering it to him. He did the same; they shook. "So, Racetrack, do you know where I could find a 'newsie' around heah?" She questioned.**   
** Race laughed. "Hey, Missy, yoah tawkin' ta one!"**   
** Her unusually large eyes drew open even wider. "Really?!? Wow! Do ya, by any chance, know da guys whom stahted da strike?"**   
** Race laughed even harder. "Yoah lookin' at one of 'em!"**   
** Maria accidentally spit out her sarsaparilla all over the table out of surprise. "Nah! Yoah kiddin'!"**   
** "Hey, I ain't kiddin'! I'se a Manhattan newsie, tried an' true," He defended.**   
** "Wow! You oughta heah me story, den. A'right . . . I'm a runaway from an orphanage in Harlem. I heard da story about da strike a couple days ago, and it totally inspired me! I left da orphanage early today, an' I came heah ta find da strike leadahs. Well, it looks like I found just da right poison! An' in da foist place I look, I find ya- I just sat down ta eat lunch! What luck? So, I was, uh, wonderin'- can I join ya?"**   
** Race nodded dumbly as the waiter came with her food. He was still trying to find out why she was so special . . .. "Of coise you can join us! I'd be honahed ta take ya in."**   
** She grinned, scarfing down half of her hot dog like a hungry wolf. "Great!" She cried, her mouth half-full. "Come on, whudda ya waitin' foah? Let's go see da sights! Meet da people!"**   
** "A'right!" Race chuckled. "Where do ya wanna go foist?"**   
** "Show me where ya stay!" She smirked.**   
** Race nodded. "Dat sounds like a great place ta go! Follow me."**   
** They walked out of Tibby's, paying the waiter as they left. The hot summer sun beamed down on their skin, soaking into each pore, filling them with warmth. Maria took out two hair ties, and swept up her black tresses into two low pigtails. Racetrack smiled, as he realized how much she was like him. They looked a lot a like, were both Italian, both were outgoing, and both supporting the newsies strike. He wondered if there was anything else they had in common.**   
** As if on cue, Maria suddenly looked at him. "So Race, do you like ta gamble? 'Cause I thought dat maybe we could spend some time at da tracks tanight, an' maybe tomorrow we can play some cards wit' da newsies from Queens. We'd whip 'em good!"**   
** Racetrack looked at her in surprise. "Yeah, I do like ta gamble! Hmm, I nevah woulda guessed you was da gamblin' type, dough."**   
** Maria thought that that was the funniest thing she had ever heard. "Me? Without gamblin'? Dat's like hot chocolate without marshmallows! Eggs without bacon! Music without it's beat! Why, dat would be like a violin solo widout da violin!"**   
** Racetrack laughed. "Ya know, yoah a cute lil' kid."**   
** She frowned. "Who're ya callin' lil'?"**   
** He smiled. "You! I may be shoat, but I ain't dat shoat!"**   
** "Hey!" She yelled. "I'se only twelve!"**   
** He looked surprised. "Really? I'se sixteen."**   
** She smirked. "An' you tought I was shoat!"**   
** Scowling, he mumbled, "Come on, pick up yoah feet. We wanna get deah befoah next yeah!"**   
** She got an evil smile on her face. "Yoah jus' jealous dat I'm practically tawlah dan you, an' I'se only thoiteen!"**   
** Race shook his head. "Nah! Now, weah almost deah . . . ah! Heah's da street . . . "**   
** "Tryin' ta change da subject, ah we now, Anthony 'Racetrack' Higgins?" She sighed.**   
** He gasped. "Hey, 'ow did ya know me last name?"**   
** She shrugged. "Uhhh . . . umm . . . ya told it ta me?"**   
** He vigorously shook his head. "I hates me last name, so I never tells it ta anyone. 'Aven't foah yeahs. 'Ow did ya know?" He demanded.**   
** "I don't know . . . I just . . . knew it!" She said nervously, biting her lip.**   
** He shrugged, and walked on, suspicious. Could she be a spy? No, he knew what spies were like, and they were definitely not like her. He knew that something was different, but he still couldn't put his finger on it!**   
** "Okay, Maria! Now da tracks are just down da road, an' off ta our right. If yoah a gambler in Manhattan, ya gots ta know dat ta survive." He explained, pointing out the large building. Maria nodded along.**   
** He pointed out the good and the bad of the Tracks as he walked Maria down the street, listing what was right and wrong with it, what the people were like, what the food was like, and more than anyone ever wanted to know about it. They reached the door, and Racetrack opened it for her. They stepped into the stadium, and Race placed His bet at the counter. Soon, they were pushing their way through a large crowd. Racetrack struggled his way to a small, un-noticeable hallway.**   
** "Dis is a hallway dat has a vent in it dat leads ta da best seats in da house! Follow me." Maria followed him as he walked down the narrow hallway, and stopped at a large vent in the wall. He took a small piece of metal, and pried the cover off, working quickly. As soon as the cover was off, he rushed Maria into the vent, and crawled in after her, popping the cover back on. It was dark and dusty inside the vent, but large and easy to get around in. "Follow me!" Racetrack whispered, pushing past Maria to lead the way.**   
** She tiptoed after him, around corners, down slopes, and past forks in the vent. Soon, she heard Racetrack warn her, "Watch out, this is the hardest part." He pointed up, to see a huge jump to the opening of the vent on the other side. He grabbed Maria's arm, and pulled her over to the bottom of the jump. He put his arms around her waist, and hoisted her up. She popped off the cover, and crawled over. Offering her hand to Race, he took it and climbed up. They popped the cover back on, and looked up. "Ya see," Race explained, "Dey closed dis section a while ago, I'm not sure why. Nobody can see us here, and dey're really good seats, too!"**   
** Maria smiled. "Dey're about ta start!"**   
** "Hey, Maria, dere's dis hoahs dat I tink I'm gonna bet on tanight. 'Er name is Maria, jus' like you! I've been watchin' 'er foah a while, an' she looks like she could win. And tonight, she 'as ta! Yoah me lucky charm, an' wit you heah, deah's no way she could lose. I know it. I bet on 'er when we walked in, so I'm ready. . ." he smirked. "It'll be a good race tanight, Mar'."**   
** Maria suddenly laughed. "Ah! So dat's why dey cawls ya Racetrack, huh? Ahh, yoah too funny."**   
** Race jumped as he heard the gun blast, and the horses were off. Maria's eyes lit up as she watched the horses fly across the tracks. She knew which horse Maria was without even being told. She closed her eyes, and concentrated hard. She breathed in and out deeply. Suddenly, the horse Maria pulled ahead, just in time to cross the finish line. Racetrack screamed at the top of his lungs, as Maria closed her eyes, and smiled. She opened them, and hugged Racetrack. "So, how much did ya bet, anyway?"**   
** Racetrack smiled. "Everytin' I had."**   
** Gasping, Maria inquired, "but what if you lost?"**   
** "Well, I didn't" He smirked. "Come on, let's pick up me money. Dere's an easier way out dan in!"**   
** "Good!" Maria exclaimed. "Where?"**   
** Racetrack pointed to a small, one-way gate to their left. "Just keep low when ya slip out. Don't wanna make dem suspicious!"**   
** He opened the gate, and ducked down low, dragging Maria behind him. He closed the gate again, and wiggled it to make sure it had locked behind him. "Okay, now you can act normal," he explained. "Let's go pick up me money!"**   
** Maria smiled, "Do ya know how much you won?"**   
** He shook his head. "I'm not very good at math and such."**   
** They reached the counter. Race asked the tall man behind the window, "'Scuse me, but could you help me?"**   
** The man nodded. "Your name?"**   
** "Anthony Higgins." he replied.**   
** The man looked at some papers. "Ahhh, you bet on Maria! Good choice, young man. Here's your money."**   
** Race took the money, and counted the bills carefully. His eyes widened, as he stared at Maria. "Eighty-seven dollars . . ." he whispered.**   
** Maria grinned. "Great! So watcha gonna do wit it?"**   
** Racetrack shrugged. "It's a lot! Maybe I'll turn. . ." he turned his voice into a snobby accent. ". . .High class! Dahling Maria, be a dear, and escort me to the door."**   
** Maria chuckled, but followed his lead. "Yes, I believe I will!" She linked arms with him, and flounced out of the tracks, looking goofily overdone. Suddenly, it was too much for her. She broke out into joyous peals of laughter, music to the world's ears. It would have humbled the brightest of laughs, almost inhuman. Racetrack chuckled along with her, and was dazzled when she flashed him a blinding smile. He was slowly falling in love with her. . . .**   
** Slipping back into his New Yawk accent, he asked, "So, whudda ya tink I should do wid it?"**   
** "Hmmmm. . . ." she pondered. "Get yoahself sumptin' fancy! Everyone desoives sumptin' special now an' den."**   
** "Well, 'ow about we tink about it ovah dinnah?" he asked.**   
** "Shuah! But wheah?" She pondered.**   
** "Maybe. . . . Roberto's?" he suggested.**   
** "Don't ask me!" she chuckled. "I've hardly been heah foah a day, mind you! But if you tink it's good, let's go deah."**   
** Racetrack nodded. "It's about three stoahs down dat way, I tink."**   
** Maria giggled, grabbed his arm, and started running there. "Come on, hurry up! We wanna be back ta da lodgin' house by next yeah!"**   
** He stumbled after her. "Hey! HEY!" he laughed as she pulled him along. "Whoah whoah whoah, stop deah Missy! You almost passed da restaurant!"**   
** She halted, and looked up at the building on her left. It was an elegant looking place, but not extremely fancy. From the looks of it, it was an Italian restaurant, with heaps of spaghetti, pizza, noodles, and breads of all kinds. An awed look crept over Maria's face as she stared at the restaurant.**   
** "Whussa mattah? Race asked. "'Aven't ya eva seen a restaurant before?" he chuckled, laughing at his own joke.**   
** She slowly turned her head to look at Race's. "All of my life, I nevah got ta eat in an Italian restaurant. I always wanted ta see what their food tasted like. I would pass da fancy restaurant- Palcutto's- in Harlem day afta day, watching people's faces as they ate the pasta. Me mudda died when I was three, an' I can still remembah 'er. The orphanage I was sent to would nevah let me eat deah, an' would yell at me if I even looked. It always looked so good. . . ."**   
** Racetrack smiled as he thought of what Maria's mother would look like. Large, gentle eyes, coal black hair, olive skin, dark lips, with a soothing smile that could do you more wonders than a hot bowl of chicken soup. He somehow felt like he knew her mother, although he didn't know why. . .**   
** "Well, den, let's eat! You'll finally see what pasta tastes like. It's quite a wonder." He sighed, opening the door for her. "Ladies foist!"**   
** Maria smiled as she walked daintily into the restaurant. She glanced around, seeing a waiter start to walk over to the door, a disdained look on his face, as if to show how utterly disgusting the street rats of New York were.**   
** "Follow me," the waiter sneered, as he lead them to a small booth in the back of the restaurant. He seated them, and handed them their menus. As soon as the last menu left his hand, he rushed off to the kitchen, obviously revolted.**   
** Racetrack rolled his eyes. "I don't get da impression dat he respects us. . ." he said in a funny voice, making Maria laugh.**   
** "Yoah too funny, Race!" she grinned. "Hmmm. . . . I tink I'll 'ave da pepperoni an' spaghetti bread. Do you tink dat's a good choice?"**   
** Race shrugged. "I've only been heah once befoah, a while back. I can't remember what anytin's like at awl. All I know is dat it's Italian!"**   
** Maria read the description of the meal once more, then nodded in approval. "I tink I'll get it. Yeah, I will."**   
** "I'm gettin' da marinated steak an' mushrooms on top a'. . . ling. . luang. . .lambergini?!?" Race stuttered, not able to pronounce the name of his dish.**   
** "Linguini!" Maria chuckled.**   
** Race furrowed his brow. "Wait a sec. Didn't you say dat you nevah ate out Italian befoah? How did you know what it was called? You didn't even look at the menu!" Race exclaimed.**   
** Maria's eyes widened again. "I. . . I . .. I dunno! I just. . . knew it!"**   
** Race shook his head. "Deah's sumptin' about ya dat saprises me, Mar'. I'm gonna find it out, too!"**   
** Maria suddenly turned pale.**   
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**TO BE CONTINUED . . . . .**


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